


Laurie

by Shawn Michel de Montaigne (ShawnMichel)



Category: I Think I Love You - The Partridge Family (Song), Partridge Family
Genre: Coming of Age, F/M, Fame, Gen, Growing Up, Loss, Redemption, Rock and Roll
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:33:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26496457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShawnMichel/pseuds/Shawn%20Michel%20de%20Montaigne
Summary: As a young girl, Laurie Meadowlark taught herself how to play the drums, keyboards, and guitar. She's good at all three; when she plays gigs with her mom and Terry, her brother, she's on keyboards. Two others are in Meadowlark: Aaron, the bassist, and Knox, the drummer.But trouble is simmering in the group; and Laurie, just seventeen and the youngest, is feeling increasingly unwanted by some of the others. On the verge of adulthood, she is wondering: Can she play the game of life too? Read on!





	1. The Club Owner

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Partridge Family](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/685042) by Bernard Slade. 



> Back in the early 70s, The Partridge Family was a big deal. It may seem completely hokey now, but then it was quite radical. A single mother (gasp!) raising five kids. Not only that, but five kids who played rock n' roll music with her! (Double-gasp!) Traveling around the country with their semi-hippie-ish hairdos in their definitely-hippie bus, their frilly get-ups and bell bottoms, their rainbow-lighted stages, and their easygoing, hip attitudes, the show truly did break some stale social mores that needed to be broken.
> 
> David Cassidy, who played Keith Partridge, took center stage after his mega-hit "I Think I Love You" (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rUVCrn2VgT4) was released the year the series began--1970. I remember that my older sisters had huge posters of him on their bedroom walls; and I remember the nastiness directed towards him and the show in general from conservatives, who declared that he and the series were clear indicators of Western Civilization in decline, even though the show itself features very tame stories for the most part, though it did occasionally delve into such issues as women's rights, peace, teen issues, and war. The stories glance those topics, and glance only, just enough to give the impression of being edgy, which, to be fair, and for the time, they were. You've got to remember: the show aired half a century ago. America was mired in Vietnam; it had a criminal president in Richard Nixon (don't his crimes seem totally quaint compared to those committed daily by Trump?), race, anti-war, and student riots were erupting all over the country; we'd just landed on the moon; and the Beatles had just broken up. In many ways, it was night and day compared to now. In many ways, we're still there.
> 
> Cassidy was front and center, and the reason the show did so well, admittedly; but it was Laurie, played by Susan Dey, who captured my attention. She was, in all seriousness, my very first crush, even though I was eight in 1970 and had no idea why every time she was on screen I couldn't focus on anything else.
> 
> Laurie was portrayed as an All-American girl, but you could sense something just beneath, something simmering, something potent, even sometimes quite dark. As I became more and more versed with fan fiction, an age-old dream pushed me to begin my own story about her. What follows is it.
> 
> She isn't named Partridge here, but Meadowlark; and her family consists of herself, her mom, and her brother Terry. It's a much edgier story, much grittier, with many details of her life not too dissimilar from my own. It's the modern day, not 1970; and she lives like a modern-day teenager. She's seventeen and trying to figure out what to do with her life in a world absolutely devoted not to peace and love, but to violence, fascism, me-firstism, consumption, and destruction.
> 
> Despite this being a fan fiction, it's a very important project to me, one I anticipate working on for many years to come.
> 
> Please enjoy.
> 
> ~~*~~

**Dan Schnelling’s waiting room was a large spacious square,** the olive-green plastic chairs against two of the taupe walls uncomfortable. All of them. Everything smelled of stale cigar smoke; and the cold white lights shone sterile and lifeless, and always gave her a headache the three previous times she’d come here. The floor-to-ceiling windows on the opposite wall were covered in blinds. Taupe.

“Let’s sit,” her mother said.

She sighed, glaring down at the tan (darker taupe) carpeting. “He said two o’ clock. It’s five past.”

The secretary nodded sympathetically from her desk ten feet away. “He’ll be right back. Please ... sit.”

Laurie sighed again, went to the nearest chair, and dropped angrily down on it, crossing her arms. Her mother sat next to her. As the secretary, who was twenty feet away, got back to work, Mom said, “Look. This is just how it goes. He owns half the clubs in this town, and probably a quarter of those in L.A. and San Francisco. We can’t meet him all huffy.”

Laurie glanced at her. “Doesn’t it piss you off that he feels no problem whatsoever making us wait on him? When we show up to his clubs, they _always_ sell out! The fire marshal came last time and gave him a ticket, remember? That jerk tried to make _us_ pay it!”

“Oh, I remember,” murmured Mom. “And we did pay for it. I just didn’t tell you.”

Laurie’s face twisted into outrage. _“What—the—hell?”_

“I didn’t tell you because of this reaction, right here. I shouldn’t have told you now that we’re going to meet him. That was stupid.”

“He’s _always_ messing around with us! He’s a bully and a pig! I say, let’s cut an album and go touring in regular venues and drop his fat ass before he drops us! I think we could hit it big if we tried! Why don’t we just _try?_ ”

“We don’t try because, for one, we don’t have a contract with a label; for another, we don’t have anything close to a suitable means of travel; for a third, we don’t get _any_ airplay—which, admittedly, may not matter in this day and age; and for a fourth, traveling and touring costs tons of money! You know all this! We’ve all got day jobs! Why do we need to go round and round on it over and over again?”

Laurie didn’t respond. She shook her head and slumped more in her chair. Mom, watching, sighed.

“There’s another problem,” she said gently, “one I’m sure you already know about.”

“So why bring it up?” she grumbled.

“We’ve got it really, really good here,” Mom offered. “Better than we could _ever_ expect anywhere else. Believe me. We live in a state where it’s possible for you to play in over-21 establishments. We venture out of state, and we’re S.O.L. I think California is the only state that even makes it a possibility that you can join us onstage.”

“Like it matters,” grunted Laurie. “They all go to see Terry anyway.”

Mom snorted. “Yeah. Right. What, are you trying to score dumb points or something so I’ll feel bad for you? You show up onstage with that cute schoolgirl skirt, and that cute dimply smile, and your long light brown locks waving under the lights ... How many men are there just to ogle you? How many have we had to get really aggressive with keeping away from you? I mean, seriously—the sheriff a year ago—”

“All right, all right!” she exclaimed just over a whisper. “I _got_ it! Stupid, ugly, old men. Perverts!”

Mom held silent for a moment. “Look. Okay. Yeah. Terry is a pretty boy. He’s got the goods; and because of him a year ago we had what I guess in this day and age could be considered a hit. He caught that riff and we rode it to stardom.”

It was Laurie’s turn to snort.

“Okay ... _minor_ stardom. But it was enough to get us noticed, at least in this area. And hey—we just hit a hundred thousand subscribers on YouTube! It’s nowhere near enough to pay all the bills, mind you; but it’s _something_ , don’t you think? Our Patreon is doing all right, all told. Not great ... but all right. We do have a growing Web influence ... we sell t-shirts ...” She chuckled. “We’re really big in Belgium ... _and_ Germany.”

Laurie, still angry, kept her stare on her knees.

Mom slapped her knee. “Oh, come on. What I’m trying to say is—and don’t get me wrong, I love Terry, too, he’s my son—but you’ve got more talent in that pinkie finger of yours than he does in his entire body.”

“And yet he’s the one who wrote the hit song.”

“Everybody can get lucky.”

“Even total jerks.”

Mom sighed. “He’s your brother.”

“Correction: he’s my jerk brother.”

“You two used to get along! Buddy-buddy! Remember that? What happened?”

“I started to grow up, and he went backward!”

Mom held up. “Don’t say it.”

Laurie shook her head. “When _he_ joined the band ... You know it and I know it.”

“He” was Aaron Keating, the band’s bassist. Another pretty boy like Terry, he was exceptionally gifted. He was twenty-three, three years older than Terry, and someone he had glommed onto almost instantly. Once fairly straight-laced, suddenly Terry was coming home high, and playing high ... And then getting arrested last September and charged with driving while under the influence.

“We’ve had this conversation,” said Mom with a hint of warning in her voice. “Aaron says he’s cleaned up. I haven’t suspected him of being high or drunk on stage, or when we rehearse. I think he’s trying.”

“He’s trying all right,” said Laurie. “He’s trying to pull the wool over your eyes! And he’s succeeding!”

Mom regarded her sadly. “Don’t you believe in giving someone a second chance?”

“Oh, I believe in it. But I think we’re on chance ninety or a hundred and ninety! Seriously, Mom! One of these days he’s going to endanger all of us!”

Dan Schnelling walked in the moment before Mom went to respond.

“Cherylynn, Laurie ...” he impatiently muttered. Without waiting for a reply, he went to the secretary, where he handed her a phone. “Get this transcribed right away. I want the contract available before I leave tonight.”

“Yes, Mister Schnelling,” the woman replied. Laurie thought she was very meek, like a beaten puppy. The secretary set the phone down and then went back to looking at her computer screen while Schnelling marched into his office and closed the door behind him.

“I think he thinks he’s a doctor or something,” Laurie grumbled. “Too high and mighty for good manners!”

“He’s an extremely wealthy man,” replied Mom, “in an age when nothing is regarded more highly, and nothing else matters.”

Laurie chuckled bitterly. “Prosperity gospel one-oh-one.”

“I was just thinking of it,” said Mom with a smile. “The chorus has become something of an earworm.” She patted her knee. “Yet another example of what I was just saying: that you have a _lot_ of talent, dear daughter.”

“Too bad you’re the only one who’s ever going to hear it,” murmured Laurie.

“I really think we should record it before the month is out. Seriously, I do!”

Laurie chuckled. “Yeah, that’ll go over like a lead balloon with Terry! I already tried mentioning it to him, as you’ll recall.”

“I think I need to talk to him first. His ego is getting in the way of really great art.”

“Mister Schnelling is available now,” called the secretary. “Please go on in.”

“Well now! That must be some sort of record!” said Laurie, standing. “Only twenty minutes this time! We really must be getting famous!”

“Should you stay out here?” demanded Mom, giving her the evil eye. “You really need to hold it in, or stay out here. Choose.”

Laurie stalked to Schnelling’s closed door and opened it, grandly waving her through. “I’ll be a good girl. Promise. Besides, he specifically called me here too.”

Mom, scowling, walked past her into the office. Laurie slammed the door behind her, rattling the nearest framed photos of Schnelling posing with Kanye West and in the other, Justin Timberlake.

Schnelling, his face darkening, didn’t bother to stand. Laurie strode up to the available seat and dropped down as Mom said, “Dan. It’s good to see you again. What can we do for you today?”

“You know, Laurie,” he said without preamble, “I really don’t appreciate your attitude.” He came forward and dropped his elbows on the desk and pointed at her. “You really are too young to realize just how good you’ve got it. Most musicians couldn’t draw a dozen people at a park with their cases open at their feet. I’m selling Meadowlark out in practically every venue during an age when live music is becoming a rarity on the club scene!”

Before she could retort, he turned his attention to Mom. “I’ve actually called you in to demand, Cherylynn, that you find a new keyboardist.”

Laurie, outraged, went to stand.

“Stay in your seat,” said Mom with quiet, cool evenness, “And please let me respond.”

She focused on Schnelling. “And why is that, Dan? Laurie is incredibly talented. She has a great voice. She’s beautiful. She’s a draw.”

“She’s also a right pain in the ass,” grunted Schnelling, glowering at her.

“Fuck you!” yelled Laurie, standing, before she could stop it from blasting out of her.

But Mom didn’t chide her or get on her. Instead, she directed her gaze, darkening steadily, back to Schnelling. “I think we got this meeting on the wrong foot. Shall we try—”

“Bottom line,” interrupted Schnelling, “I am sick and tired of pushing paperwork through government offices getting her a hall pass so she can wave her teenaged butt onstage in one of my clubs. Are you aware that I have to do that _every_ time you play, and that I— _I_ —eat the administrative costs? It costs twenty-five dollars for every single pass. Every one. I’m sick of it. I’ve paid over six hundred fifty dollars for her. And this is the gratitude I get. No more.”

“That’s simply not true, Dan. You take that from our cut,” said Mom, making an obvious attempt to hold on to her temper. “Please don’t lie to me. We are the ones paying for her ‘administrative costs.’ ”

She gazed up at her. “Please sit down.”

“What’s the point?” demanded Laurie. “He wants me gone!”

“That’s right!” yelled Schnelling, also standing. “Minors in clubs should be outlawed! And in fact, if the legislature gets its way next year, you _will_ be gone from every club in the state!”

“Could we...?” Mom glanced at her, then at Dan “... could we put a lid on the tempers here for a moment? Please? I would like to have a civil conversation. Laurie, sit down. Sit— _down_. Thank you. Dan? Please? Thank you. I don’t understand—legislature?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Schnelling said at the same time Laurie did.

An awkward silence passed. Ten seconds.

“Laurie is part of our group,” said Mom quietly. “She’s family. She’s not going anywhere. She helps to sell out your clubs.”

“For what I pay Meadowlark to play, I barely scrape enough cash to buy myself a club soda at last call. I’d make more money with a DJ—even a crappy one. Bottom line: find yourself a new keyboardist, or find new clubs to play in. I’m being more than generous here. Now if you’ll excuse me, the mayor is coming in. Please excuse yourselves before he gets here.”

**~~*~~**


	2. Dumped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do you do when you get dumped from your family's own band? Read on!

**“I remember,” Mom said, reaching for her hand as she drove, “when things didn’t go your way, you’d raise holy hell.”**

Laurie shook her head as she watched downtown San Diego pass by. “I haven’t gotten started yet.”

“What I mean to say is, you’d bawl and stomp around and throw things. I was half-afraid you were going to punch Schnelling in the nose!”

“I _was_ going to punch him in the nose. You stopped me. You grabbed my hand and dragged me out. Remember?”

She glanced at her. “So what’s going to happen? Am I through with the band?”

“Of course not, honey. Of course not. We’ll ... soldier on. It’s what we do best. It’s what _you_ do best.”

“What are you going to say to Terry?”

“What—that if we keep you in the group, there’ll be no more club gigs? No more girls screaming to grab his butt and throwing their underwear on stage?”

“Yeah. That.”

Mom, still holding her hand, gave it a strong squeeze. “I know you’re really pissed, sweetie. I’m sorry.” She released her when the light turned green and they took a left onto the merge lane that would put them on the Five.

“We’ll sit down with the band later and explain it to them. Rationally. Coolly. With as little temper as we can manage. Okay?”

“Terry wants me gone. He’ll be ecstatic. Don’t deny it!”

“Terry wants a lot of things that aren’t good for him.”

“Nice political way of confirming my suspicions.”

“I can love my son and not agree with him. He thinks you’re too naive, too ‘green’ to be in ‘his’ group. He wants to project a harder image.”

“I’ve heard,” she grumbled. “He wants to be the new Foo Fighters. Besides, it’s your group. _You’re_ the one who formed us.”

Mom sighed. “I had Terry when I was twenty—just three years older than you are now. I’m not even forty! I _love_ the Foo Fighters. But it’s my group. I make the final decisions. He knows that.”

“Does he, Mom?” demanded Laurie. “ _Does_ he?”

“I taught him guitar. I taught him how to sing. Just like I taught you. You taught yourself keyboards with an assist from Mister Dubake at school. _I_ make the final decisions. He knows that.”

Laurie sighed as she watched the city zoom by. “We’re just getting started. We’re just getting off the ground. Seriously—fuck Dan Schnelling!”

Mom reached for her hand. Laurie held it back while fighting back tears that wanted to spill down her cheeks. One did anyway. She silently cursed it.

If Terry was ecstatic—and Laurie knew he would be—he didn’t show it. With the rest of the group, they sat in the living room and listened as Mom explained what happened at the meeting. When it was announced that Schnelling had effectively fired her given that they’d still want to hold on to over sixty percent of their upcoming gigs, she watched him carefully. He glanced at her; but for the most part did nothing but sit back in the recliner and take a deep breath.

“Maybe it’s time we hire a manager,” said Aaron, looking around. He was sitting on the couch. “We should hire a manager, get a contract drawn up, and stop messin’ around with the Dan Schnellings of the world. He’s not the worst of them, you know ...”

Meadowlark’s drummer was Knox Mulloy. Soft-spoken, Knox was also a victim of both Dan Schnelling’s and Terry and Aaron’s backstabbing. Schnelling once told Mom, “Girls want to see bare-chested drummers bashing away. You make _that_ kid bare-chested and the girls’ll puke! He’s also balding—at nineteen! Who ever heard of _that?_ ”

“He’s also been called a young John Bonham,” Mom had retorted.

Schnelling snorted. “By who— _Butt-Ugly Drummers Quarterly_?”

“By KGB radio!”

“Every fucking semi-serious drummer is a ‘young John Bonham’ to someone. It’s bullshit. He’s a mediocre talent at best.”

Standing next to the stereo, Knox said, “We can’t let Laurie go. I’m sorry, but ...” he glanced around at everyone, “... she’s the backbone of this outfit. She’s this band’s spiritual center.”

Aaron glanced at Terry, and both snorted with laughter.

“That’s enough, you two,” Mom warned as Laurie flipped them the bird, which Terry returned and to which Aaron only raised his eyebrows threateningly.

“Schnelling is right,” he said, taking his wolfy glare from her. “It’s time we grew up. This isn’t a _Teen Beat_ cover band.”

“It never was!” Laurie yelled.

“If we want to get serious about music, then we should follow Schnelling’s advice!” he said, then added: “Honestly ... and you know, Laurie, really, baby, nothing the matter with you, you’ve got some talent, you really do, a few more years and you’ll be somethin’ ... do we really _need_ a keyboardist? Let’s go for an edgier sound, harder, maybe even a little metal.”

“Call me ‘baby’ again. See how that works out for you,” said Laurie after standing and cocking her head.

Aaron watched her steadily, a dangerous look on his face. He was a six-foot-tall, well-muscled man, someone who would have no problem taking her on. He snorted again.

She started for him.

“Laurie!” Mom yelled, standing and putting herself in the way while jamming a solid palm in her chest. She glanced at Aaron. “I think you can put a lid on the attitude. Whaddya say?”

It was his turn to stand. “I’m sorry, Cherylynn. You’re the oldest here, and you formed the group, yeah, sure, but you’re not my mom. Don’t talk down to me.”

He and Mom exchanged dark, threatening looks. She turned back to Laurie.

“Sit down, hold it in for a few more minutes, and let’s let everyone have their say. Okay?”

She glanced at Aaron, who was smirking; and then at Terry, who was shaking his head disdainfully. He and Aaron exchanged a glance, and then looked away, both trying to suppress laughter.

She sat back in her chair. She went to speak, but Knox beat her to it. He came to her and put a hand on her shoulder. The gesture was threatening in itself. But only because it moved her to tears, which she angrily suppressed.

“I have an announcement,” he said. She heard him take a big breath. “If Laurie is out, then so am I.”

Aaron chuckled. “Dude. She still won’t fuck you.”

Terry burst out in laughter as Laurie launched from her seat. Aaron, holding up his hands in mock defense, exclaimed, “Whoa! Mean high-school chicky comin’!” but shut up when she slashed at him past Mom’s futile attempt to separate them, nails extended. She connected with his cheek, which instantly began bleeding, three parallel nail tracks that had him instantly clutching his face.

_“Laurie!”_

_“You fucking bitch!”_ Aaron yelled, and threw a backhand. The blow sent her tumbling into Mom, both of whom fell back into her chair.

Aaron’s astonishment, as he examined the blood on his fingers after pulling them away from his face, provided the window for Laurie, her mouth filling with blood, to kick his knee. She was wearing her black boots with two-inch heels.

The kick was true; shrieking, he bent forward to clutch it. She had already recoiled for another strike as her ten-year study in karate had trained her to do.

The blow landed square against the bridge of his nose, knocking his head obliquely to the side.

Two hundred-plus pounds of unconscious dickhead bassist collapsed on top of both of them.

Mom’s yells were deafening and incoherent. Laurie had inadvertently elbowed her in the cheek. Keating’s weight was sudden, painful, and suffocating. Knox was immediately there, pulling him off, and grabbing her by her wrist to help get her to her feet.

“Get away, you fucking lard-ass!” roared Terry, who pushed both of them away as he went to stoop over Mom. He helped her to her feet, then righted the chair she was sitting in.

Laurie winced. Mom’s left eye and cheek were bleeding and swelling as she watched, her lip split.

“Knox!” she yelled, “you stay and help me with Aaron. You two— _call an ambulance and then GET THE HELL OUT OF MY SIGHT!_ ”

Laurie, rage-tears spilling, went to leave. But Terry had her by her shoulder and spun her around.

The slap she gave him was of such force that it split the flesh of her hand just under her middle finger. His head snapped back and he barreled backward into the end table with lamp on it, which smashed against the wall, flared, and went out.

Mom was screaming something. Laurie didn’t care if it was at her or at whoever. She grabbed the keys to her car and ran outside. A moment later she squealed away from the house, her left eye swelling shut.

“I’m sorry, Miss ... are you okay?”

He was an older man, tall and black, with kind eyes and a bulging stomach. He had touched her shoulder, causing her to wheel about in fear. He watched her with concern.

“Uh ...” she murmured. “Uh ... yeah. I’m ... okay.”

“Forgive me, but you don’t look okay. Are you in some kind of trouble? Can I help in some way?”

Goddamn these tears!

“No ... uh ... I’ll be ... I’ll be okay. Thanks. Just ... I mean ...” She hurried away from him, towards the ladies room. “... I’ll be ... thanks.”

She began jogging.

She got to the door, flung it open, and rushed into the stall where she closed and locked it. She sat hard on the toilet, dropped her head in her hands, and began sobbing in earnest.

The darkness cocooned her. The smells too. The nasty smell of a public bathroom, of course; but also the sharp odor of cleaning detergent recently applied, and the brine of the ocean, which was twenty feet beneath her. The pier would be closing in a half hour. She had a half hour to sit here if she wanted.

Tears stung her left eye, which that asshole had cut when he backhanded her. She had glanced in a mirror in another bathroom somewhere on the way here. The cut ran from just next to her eye down her cheek. He must have been wearing a ring.

The eye itself was a gruesome boil of black, brown, even green. It alarmed her. She couldn’t see out of it.

_Did that fucker blind me?_

_Did it fucking matter anymore?_

A knock on the door.

“Anyone in there?”

The door creaked open. “Hello?”

“In here!” she yelled.

“Pier is closing, ma’am,” the man’s voice announced.

“Thank you ...” she returned.

She heard the door close.

She gathered herself, opened the stall, and went to the door. A man was closing the pull-down cover over the snack bar just adjacent, one she and Mom used to visit to buy shaved ice. He peered at her as she walked out. It must have been he who called out to her. He gave her a flat-eyed gaze of tired annoyance and went back to work. She marched past him and a minute later was at the foot of the pier, the large gates of which were being closed by a police officer. He gave her a cursory glance as she passed.

The Motel 6 was one she’d passed a thousand times before. It bordered National City and Chula Vista along the Five. Slummy and industrial.

She’d never checked into a motel by herself before. It was much easier than she thought it would be. The woman at the check-in gave her a sympathetic stare as she logged in her information and took her debit card, which, thankfully, Mom had given her just a couple months earlier.

Mom was no fool. She’d be frantically looking for her. Doing so would put her on the computer, where she’d do things like look for debit card transactions. That would exclude everyone but her from knowing where she was. It was better than calling, which would almost certainly alert the rest.

The clerk gave her a key. “Have a good night, dear,” then gave directions to the room—Room 208. Laurie nodded and walked out into the night.

She got to her room, went in, and sat weeping at the edge of the bed while the night passed her by.

A knock at the door.

“Laurie? Laurie? Let me in! _Laurie?_ ”

She’d been awake since six. It was now 7:15. She’d gotten maybe three hours of unsteady, unsatisfying sleep. She hadn’t bothered getting undressed or even pulling the covers back. Somehow it seemed wrong to.

She swung her legs over the bed, sighed, and stood. At the door she hesitated.

Mom pounded on it again. “Laurie? Please open up! _Please!_ ”

Laurie opened it.

Mom was instantly against her, throwing her arms around her. “Sweet Jesus, I was so damn worried!”

Laurie, having resolved not to cry again, was already sobbing in her shoulder. They held each other for a long time before either spoke.

“If you’re going to yell at me, don’t bother,” she announced. “I’m not going to apologize, except to you. I’m sorry you got hurt. I’m sorry things got out of hand.”

She genuinely was sorry, so much so that she could scarcely look at her. Mom’s face was black and blue, at least on the left side, her eye mostly swollen shut, just like hers. Her upper lip had split too. She looked gruesome.

Mom, still holding her, reached and very gently touched her cheek. “You need stitches. This is infected.”

“You probably need them too!” Laurie blubbered.

“I’m fine. But that cut isn’t. Let’s check you out of here and get you to the E.R.”

Laurie’s guilt got the better of her, and she blurted. “Yell at me. Go ahead. I want it!”

Cherylynn shook her head. “No point. I know you feel bad. You should. You let those two get to you. It’s my fault, really. I thought you’d be able to hold back; and I thought those two were better than schoolyard bullies. I was wrong on both counts. For that I’m sorry. I should have thought of a better way to deal with such bad news. Now—let’s get going.”

The emergency room doctor finally showed up after a two-hour wait. He insisted on examining both of them. After stitching up Laurie’s cheek, he said, “I’m going to have to report this as domestic abuse.”

“The one responsible isn’t a member of our family. Our group, yes; our family, no. So I don’t see how this is a domestic case,” protested Mom.

“I’m sorry,” said the doctor. “I don’t have a choice in this. Hang tight and I’ll get the release forms.”

With that, he left.

An hour later, Laurie and Mom got back in Mom’s car. It was noon, just after.

“Hungry?” she asked.

Laurie nodded. “Famished.”

Her cheek stung from the new stitches, which were bothersome also in that she could see them in the bottom of her vision, which, thank fuck, was still functional.

“Let’s grab some drive-thru and go sit in a park for a bit.”

Laurie nodded.

“Well ... I’m waiting. Let’s have it.”

Mom sighed and took a pull from her straw. She swallowed and shook her head. “Knox is out. He quit. Between frantic attempts at locating you, I tried calling him, even going to his home. I tried talking sense into him, but ... no. He’s done.”

“Can you _blame_ him?” Laurie demanded. “Those two have _always_ hated him! I wouldn’t doubt in the slightest that not only are they partying knowing this, but they’ve already got another drummer lined up!”

Mom sighed, but didn’t answer. It was confirmation enough.

“Jesus!” Laurie cried, blinking yet more tears away. _“Jesus!”_

She gazed at her. “What—are they going to can you, too?”

“Tex Lansing,” Mom murmured.

“Tex Lansing. Of course. _Of—fucking—course!_ ” She leaned forward. “What are you gonna _do?_ ”

She looked so tired, Laurie thought. That just made her feel worse, which didn’t seem possible. Mom held up. “I ... probably shouldn’t tell you this, but ... hell. I don’t think it matters anymore....”

Laurie waited.

“Aaron and Terry went out. They got back about 2, drunk and high off their asses. Aaron’s face was gross, and he was wearing a knee brace and limping. I told him to get to the hospital, that I’d take him. He told me to fuck off, that it was all my fault. I thought he might hit me, but he just left.”

“Dickhead.”

“I tried to convince him to stay. He was way too drunk to drive. I thought I should call 9-1-1, but didn’t. Pretty stupid of me. Terry stumbled and belched up to his room and passed out completely clothed.”

She held up.

“I snuck into his room. I ... glanced through his phone messages. There were nine to Dan Schnelling, all just three days ago.”

“You have _got_ to be fucking kidding me!”

Mom shook her head.

“This isn’t my group anymore,” she said, resignation heavy in her voice. “I woke Terry up—I got a bucket out of the garage and filled it all the way up and dumped it on his head, right there on his bed. Probably five gallons of ice-cold water. He screamed at me. I took his phone and smashed it underfoot as he watched. I’m going to play one more gig with him and Aaron and Tex, but then ... I’m out, too. Meadowlark is Terry’s group now.”

**~~*~~**


	3. Breaking Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath. Read on!

**“Get out of my way!”**

Terry pushed past her, large, spilling cardboard box in his grip, as he stumbled sightlessly towards the U-Haul. Jumping out the back, Meadowlark’s new drummer, Tex Lansing, threw her an indifferent nod as she made her way up the driveway to the front door, which was propped open by a barbell.

Mom, carrying another box, was coming down the stairs, this one neatly closed.

“He isn’t—?” Laurie began.

“Mister Keating is not allowed within a mile of this house,” she said, loud enough for Terry and Tex to hear, who shook their heads and disappeared around the end of the truck.

“Good,” said Laurie. “Should I bother helping, or will that start World War IV?”

“World War IV,” returned her mother over her shoulder as she hurried towards the moving truck.

At the front door, she stopped for a moment to gaze around. Terry’s bed frame was already down here; so too his chest of drawers, his clothes, which were all in a heap, and his desk.

Mom had kicked him out. He, Aaron, and Tex had, apparently, put a security deposit down on a crappy three-bedroom house in La Mesa _before_ the Big Fight—World War III.

All this bullshit subterfuge and dishonesty. All so she’d get kicked out of the band, and Knox— _and_ Mom.

_“It’s MY band now!”_ Terry had roared to both of them just the day before yesterday. _“MY band!”_

Mom had kept her cool. “It is,” she replied quietly. Her black eye looked truly gruesome. Laurie couldn’t look at it for too long, knowing she was responsible for putting it there. “Which means I will play one more gig with you, but then I’m out, too.”

“FINE!” he raged. “THAT’S JUST FINE BY ME! NO ONE WANTS TO SEE SOME MIDDLE-AGED MOTHER FAKING ANN WILSON AND PRETENDING TO BE ALL HIP AND SHIT—AND FAILING MISERABLY AT IT! WE’RE BETTER OFF _WITHOUT_ YOU!”

She couldn’t hide the hurt in her one good eye. Amazingly, she still refused to take the bait. “I’m sure you feel that way. The best of luck to you, son. I think you’re going to—”

But he elbowed his way past them towards the door. “This is such a waste of fuckin’ time ...” He slammed it, but not before throwing Laurie a look of deepest loathing.

“All of this was planned by the looks of it,” said Mom. “Dan’s appointment, your firing, getting rid of Knox ... And then,” she shook her head sadly, “and then me. He went about this in a very backhanded way.”

“He stabbed us in the back!”

“He stabbed us in the back. Which, if you want to know, is why I gave him the boot. He wants to fire us and take control of the band, fine. He wants to get rid of Knox, fine. I strongly disagree with those choices, but that wasn’t the deal breaker for me. Going behind my back was.”

“You’re far kinder than I am,” said Laurie. She glanced outside. “They’re coming back. I think I’ll go up to my room for a bit. Maybe practice. Loudly.”

Mom gave her forearm a pat. “That’s a good idea.”

Her face was grotesque. But the swelling was coming down, and the stitches were disappearing. She stood in her bathroom, leaned forward, and stared closely at her face. She could hear banging around downstairs, but nothing else—no conversation, and no yelling.

There was a time when she was close to Terry. Very close, in fact. She used to look up to him. He was the big, protective older brother. As much as Mom taught her to play guitar and keyboards, Terry was just as influential. When Mom suggested they start a band, it was Terry who insisted that Laurie join them; and it was Mom who resisted at first!

“I don’t relish the thought of you hanging around with the typical musician,” she had told her more than once.

After more convincing by Terry, she grudgingly allowed Laurie in.

Terry back then was the All-American clean-cut boy. His good looks, long, wavy brown hair, and easy smile were their own advertisements. Laurie was still in middle school then, but she remembered their first concert at his high school. It was a “battle of the bands” contest, and they played second to last. They covered the Guess Who’s classic “No Sugar Tonight/New Mother Nature,” and won it. She remembered the girls going crazy up front. And she remembered the stars in his eyes after the curtains went down and they were called back for an encore, the only band to enjoy such a thing.

It was all supposed to be more or less a lark, at best temporary. Mom had found Knox Mulloy on Craigslist; Terry had recruited Aaron Keating. They went their separate ways after using the fifty dollar first-prize money to treat everyone at In N Out Burger. They laughed about it all. No biggie, they kept telling each other. Just some fun. We should do this again sometime.

It was Knox who called Laurie a week later and said, “So when is the next practice?”

He was a junior at a cross-town high school, a year younger than Terry.

But Mom wasn’t up for doing anything more. Same with Aaron and Terry. So Knox came over and together he and Laurie began “jamming” after school—first covers, mostly from the 60s and 70s, but then uneasy forays into actually composing their own songs. One day Mom, walking past her room, stopped and poked her head in. “Hey, that’s pretty good! Who is that—Zepp?”

Laurie smiled. “It’s ours.”

“Really!”

She came closer to the mirror. “Really.”

In a strong and valid sense, she thought, Meadowlark only existed because of her and Knox. Mom was busy with work and lawyers and the wrongful death lawsuit against Dad’s old company, one she would later win big, and her mind was only occasionally de-stressed enough to even consider playing.

And Terry? His good looks didn’t require practice. They only required that he show up to school each day. He had actually expressed disappointment after the contest that the girls weren’t _more_ gah-gah that they were—something Laurie had trouble even conceiving. But he had apparently expected them to be.

Music was hard work. At least—if you wanted to do something original or creative with it. He had laughingly suggested that they continue on as “some sort of cheesy cover band,” but all had dismissed that right away. Covers were easy. All the hard stuff had already been figured out.

“... already been figured out,” she whispered. She gingerly fingered the stitches. Those that hadn’t dissolved were beginning to itch. She fished for the Neosporin in the cabinet and carefully dabbed some on.

She stepped back to appraise herself. “Hideous. But improvable.”

She went into her room, pulled her guitar out of its case, and began practicing. Loudly.

Mom brought the big, steaming pot of Irish dinner over and ladled her up a bowl and set it before her.

“Thanks,” said Laurie. “It smells great.”

Mom served herself a bowl, sat, and sighed. Irish dinner was what, Laurie knew, she made when she needed comfort food, when she was sad or depressed about something. She’d cook that or baked macaroni and cheese.

After a second’s pause, mom grabbed the bottle of wine and poured herself a glass. “Want some?”

Laurie blinked. “Me? An underaged teenager? Mom!”

Mom went to put the bottle down, but Laurie, chuckling, said, “Oh no you don’t!” and stood and grabbed a wine glass and sat down. Mom filled it to halfway, put the bottle down, lifted her own glass, and waited.

Laurie lifted her glass, which Mom clinked gently on hers. “To my beautiful, beat-up daughter.”

Laurie grinned. “To my beautiful, beat-up mother.”

She had drunk wine before, but only on one or two other occasions. She sipped this—a merlot, dark red. “This is really good.”

“Never spend a ton of money on wine,” said Mom after taking a sip from her own glass. “You can get a great bottle at the supermarket and spend only ten dollars or so.”

“Good to know,” said Laurie.

She knew Mom probably wasn’t in much of a mood to talk, so followed her example and began eating.

“This is really good,” she said after her fifth spoonful. She wiped her mouth.

“Thank you, honey.”

A long moment passed without conversation, just the settled sounds of eating. Mom, her glass nearly empty, took another sip and set it down. “I really thought I taught him better,” she said quietly.

“It’s not your fault. He’s an adult now. He’s got it in his head that fame and fortune are all. That—and girls. Girls, girls, girls.”

“Partying.”

“Getting high.”

“It isn’t what it’s cracked up to be—fame. I saw a study. It’s really bad for your health. If you’re famous, you lose on average twenty years of life!”

“Do you really think he’ll get famous? That Meadowlark will?”

Mom shrugged. “Don’t know. Just the allure of it was enough for him to ... well, do what he did.”

“You know, you don’t have to play that last gig with them. You could just blow them off.”

Mom shook her head. “I’m not going to give him the satisfaction. They are practicing tomorrow afternoon; I’ll be there. There’s two more practices after that, and then the gig in two weeks. I want him to see me and deal with me. I want him and _his_ band to feel completely awkward around me. We were once a very happy band—and family.”

Her eyes brightened with tears. One spilled. Laurie took her hand and squeezed.

The following morning, near noon, she heard the doorbell. Mom rose to get it. Laurie stayed put in the living room. She heard her open the door; heard her say, “Come on in.”

A large black woman, briefcase in hand, entered. She gave Laurie an impatient glance.

“Is your son around?” the woman asked, taking a seat on the sofa and opening her case and extracting papers. She hadn’t glanced up at either of them; she continued working, taking a moment to pull out her phone and tap on it several times before putting it back into her pocket.

“No. He isn’t,” said Mom.

The woman glanced up. “He was supposed to be. Where is he?”

“God knows where. He’s twenty—an adult. I’m no longer responsible for him.”

“I understand that, Ms. Meadowlark,” said the woman with practiced bureaucratic patience. “But he was involved in a domestic violence case concerning yourself and a minor.” She glanced at Laurie. “Are you the minor?”

Laurie nodded.

“Your age?”

“Seventeen.”

She marked something on the paper. “And both of you required stitches at the hospital?”

“Yes,” they both answered.

“The law requires that if a minor is involved in a domestic violence case a caseworker from Child Protective Services must come and assess the home situation. The law requires your son ...” she flipped through a page “... Terry to be here. Why isn’t he here?”

She spoke before Mom did. “He believes it to be a waste of time.”

Mom didn’t say anything; instead she shrugged and sighed.

The woman glanced at her. “Is this true?”

“It is,” said Mom. “It’s also true that I kicked him out. He no longer lives here.”

The woman made a few marks on the documents in her lap, looked up. “Do you wish to file assault charges against him?”

Laurie winced at the sadness in Mom’s eyes. “No. I don’t.”

“Do you?” asked the woman, bringing her tired glare to Laurie.

She wasn’t as fast to respond. But—“No.”

The woman made more marks on the papers in her lap. As she wrote, she announced, “I’m going to have the case judge issue a bench warrant for Terry Meadowlark. He was required by law to be here; and frankly, I have run out of patience for people wasting my, and the court’s, time.” She gazed up at Mom, then at her. “Do you understand me?”

“We do, and we’re sorry,” said Mom. “I’ll be sure to let him know.”

The woman gathered the documents, placed them in her case, closed it, and stood. “I’ll show myself out.”

Mom followed her to the door anyway. Laurie heard her say, “Thank you for coming. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.” She didn’t hear the woman respond. The door closed and Mom reappeared at the foot of the stairs. Her eyes were glistening again.

Laurie went to her and hugged her.

**~~*~~**


	4. That's Easy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Great ideas are often born amid trials and tribulations. Read on!

**She knew his number, but at the last minute—almost half past midnight—decided not to call it.** She knew he’d be up; he once told her his best songs came to him late at night as he gamed. In the morning she dressed after showering, then went downstairs.

Mom wasn’t up yet. That wasn’t typical. Usually she was up by seven. But the last five days she had remained in bed, waking only past ten and not dressing out of her PJs the rest of the day. Also atypical.

Her depression was completely understandable. Laurie ached for her.

It was 9:55. June 12th. The thermometer at the back sliding-glass door read sixty-three degrees. Foggy. Gray. She heard the toilet flush upstairs in Mom’s bathroom, and then sparrows arguing outside on the porch next to the swing.

She sighed and went to fix herself something to eat, and something for Mom to eat when she woke.

At 11:23, still waiting for her to get up, she sighed again, grabbed a pen and the pad of paper next to the microwave, and wrote:

_Went to Knox’s.  
_ _Scrambled & sausage in fridge._  
_Be back this afternoon.  
_ _Love you!_

She quietly returned to her room, put her guitar in its case, grabbed her purse, and went back downstairs. Before opening the front door, she glanced one more time upstairs.

That fucking Terry!

If she saw him again, she was going to take her guitar and bash it Pete Townshend-style against his fucking skull!

She hopped on the Orange Line; twenty minutes later she got off. Knox’s house was up a nearby street, a convenient five-minute walk from the stop.

She rang the doorbell when she got there. It was almost 1 PM.

Mrs. Mulloy answered. “Laurie! My goodness, what happened to _you?_ ”

The last of the stitches were almost gone, and the bruising had faded to a mild greenish-purple discoloration.

“Ran into a creep,” she said, truthfully. “Actually, a pair of ‘em.”

So Knox _didn’t_ tell her. Which was for the better, because Mrs. Mulloy had in the past proven herself a bit of a meddler and worrywart.

“You got _mugged?_ ”

She thought of answering yes, and went to shrug, but Knox was suddenly behind his mother. “She got mugged, Mom. I thought I told you. Mind letting her in?”

“You never to told me!” Mrs. Mulloy protested, stepping out of the way. “Of course, Laurie, come in, come in! I was just heading out for some shopping. If you’re home when I get back, you can tell me all about it!”

“Only if she wants,” said Knox, who glanced at her case and smiled. “Came by to jam?”

“Only if you’re not busy. I’m glad you’re here. I didn’t know if you would be.”

“You got lucky,” he said, shutting the door as his mother, mumbling something about how the world has “gone to hell in a handbasket,” walked off. “I was supposed to be at work, but my boss rearranged the hours—again.”

“Slinging fries and mixing shakes,” she sang, the full lyrics of which they had been working on, off and on, for more than two years. She had shared them with Terry and Aaron, she realized, and hoped then that they hadn’t remembered them. It was Knox’s song after all.

“I’ve got more where that came from,” he said as they made their way down the hall to his bedroom.

“Seriously?” That was the best news she’d heard in weeks!

“Seriously.” He opened the door; she closed it after stepping in. “I’ll play the rest for you. You can sing the lyrics. Here they are—” He reached for a small stack of roughly collated post-it notes and handed them to her.

“Oh, hell yeah! This is awesome!” she said as she read through them. “Let’s get to it!”

Two hours later, she was half-lying, half-sitting on his bed, more or less slumped with a couple of pillows between her back and the corner of the wall. He’d come back with a couple of beers; he handed one to her. She sat up, popped the top, took a sip, and reclined. “Your mom won’t get mad?”

“She’s pretty uptight most of the time, but not about you. She trusts you. Which is saying something, because she really doesn’t like people all that much, girls especially.”

“She seems like such the socialite, all concerned about appearances and stuff.”

He sat at the desk chair after pulling it around. “She’s a big bag of contradictions, ol’ Mom. She’s doing a bit of personal growth, I think. She quit the conservative Catholic Church a couple of months ago, the one we’d been members of since I was born, and joined the UUs!”

“UUs?”

“Unitarian Universalists. Very liberal. She’s dumped most of her acquaintances. She calls them acquaintances and not friends. She doesn’t really feel she’s ever had a real friendship her entire life. She told me that just the other night. She was so much more uptight when dad was around. It’s like ... she’s having a mid-life crisis. She’s forty-six ... I didn’t think women got them. But I think she’s having one.”

“Is she going to buy a fancy sports car and get a boyfriend just a couple years older than you?” she asked, grinning.

“Nah. Her crisis seems to involve donating half her clothes to a relief agency, which she did yesterday, eating more vegetarian meals, giving five hundred dollars to the Biden campaign, and—get this—even smoking pot! Yeah! She told me!”

Laurie’s surprised gape held a few seconds after she blurted, _“What?”_

“No shit,” murmured Knox, shaking his head. “She told me. She and Mrs. Ducleaux down the street. Someone five years ago she would have never even thought of striking up a friendship with, let alone smoking a joint with! It’s ... sometimes overwhelming, to be completely honest.”

Laurie got the message.

“It’s better than ... well, what it used to be. Right?”

“Suppose. I mean, yeah, it is, especially with my dad not around. It’s beautiful to watch sometimes. But sometimes she asks me really personal questions that I’m, like, ‘Whoa. Stop.’ ”

“Too personal?”

“She doesn’t mean anything by it. She told me that when she was in college she ‘had a fling’ with her roommate. I think she was trying to make me feel included and safe. I don’t know.”

Laurie held up. “I’m ... sorry for what those assholes said.”

“It’s not your fault. To be entirely truthful, I’m glad they blew everything up. I was getting really tired of their shit. I’m just sorry that you and your mom got hurt.”

“You’re not sorry they kicked you out of the band?”

“I’ve thought for a long time about quitting. Those two have been pretty fuckin’ rude to me more times than I can tell you. More times than I’ve ever told you.”

“I’m sorry, Knox.”

“I had a feeling they were up to something. Turns out I was right.”

She thought for a moment. “Fuck ‘em. Just ... fuck ‘em. I’m so angry with Terry right now that I may not speak to him for a long, long time. I know if I ever see him again, he’s due for a fat fucking lip—another one!”

“Yeah ...” said Knox, considering “... yeah..” He held up. “I think you and I should form our own group.”

“I’ve thought a lot about that too. But I’m still a minor for another three and a half years; are you sure you want to include me? We won’t be able to land any club gigs.”

“To tell you the truth, I couldn’t care less about playing clubs ever again. I say we set up YouTube and Patreon channels and let the chips fall where they may. And we need your mom with us, too. Think she’d be interested?”

“I ... I really don’t know right now. She’s really down. I think after a few months have passed, she might want to jump in. It’s doubtful she’d want anything to do with music anytime before then.”

“Well, then,” he said, taking his sticks and rapping them on this knees, “it’s just you n’ me, babe. A drummer and a guitarist-slash-keyboardist.”

She smiled. “What shall we call ourselves?”

“That’s easy,” he said right away. “We should call ourselves Laurie.”

She told Mom when she got home. Mom—who was still in per PJs and robe.

“I think that’s really wonderful, sweetheart. But I don’t think I’ll be joining you. Not anytime soon. I need a break.”

Laurie hugged her tightly. “I know. I figured as much. Knox sends his love.”

“When I think about it, those two were really cruel to him sometimes. I guess I didn’t want to look all that closely at what was really going on. Are you hungry?”

“Famished. But you shouldn’t cook. I’ll pop up the street and grab us some burgers. Sound good?”

“That sounds perfect. I’ve got some cash. I’ll go grab it quick.”

When she got home, she noticed that Mom had dressed and was sitting on the couch with her feet propped up and a glass of wine in hand. They ate in the living room.

“The news that you and Knox are forming your own group has made me feel a lot better,” said Mom as she finished.

“Then join us!” Laurie exclaimed.

“No, sweetheart. I don’t think that’d be right.”

“Because you think Terry will feel you’re playing favorites?”

Mom nodded.

“Screw him!” shouted Laurie. “For a really long time I was convinced that you played favorites with _him!_ ”

The hurt that flashed in Mom’s eyes made her recoil. “You did? You really felt that way? When?”

She shook her head. “It isn’t important.”

“It is to me!”

“It isn’t important because as I got older I saw that you weren’t playing favorites at all. I was just jealous because as the older kid he had so many more opportunities than I did, which I mistook for you playing favorites. I know now that you weren’t.”

“I think what I’m going to do is try— _try_ —to be supportive of both of you. You aren’t going to be a problem. In fact, it’s going to be tough _not_ favoring you from now on. And as tough as that’s going to be will be as tough as it will be pretending to be happy with him and his new band. It’s going to be a long time before I get over my anger. I really believe I raised him better than I apparently have.”

“I don’t think I’m ever going to forgive him for what he did,” Laurie murmured.

“He’s going to need you someday,” said Mom, reaching for her hand and squeezing it. “ _Especially_ if he gets all famous and whatnot. He doesn’t have the character, I’m very sad to say, to handle that kind of attention or adulation or cash.”

“Do you think he’s got that kind of talent?”

She shrugged. “Talent really isn’t the final judge anyway, so what do I know? The masses often raise up totally untalented people and make them statues and induct them into halls of fame. It’s all a crapshoot, really. He’s certainly got the drive, I’ll give him that.”

“Yeah. When he’s not high out of his gourd or hung over!”

“That’s something else I didn’t teach him,” said Mom sadly. “He used to be so straight-laced, so nose-to-the-grindstone. When do you think he started using drugs?”

“I think it started when Aaron joined the band. I’m pretty sure that’s when it all went to hell.”

“Does Knox do drugs?”

“No. He and I smoked a joint once. He didn’t like it; but I did. I slept really well that night. Are you mad?”

“I did my fair share of pot when I was your age, so no, I’m not. I’m like you—it knocks me out. I sleep like a baby. I’ve got that tincture in the fridge, and I know you use it now and then. I’m fine with that. I’m much more concerned with alcohol.”

She kept her gaze on her.

“No,” said Laurie. “I had a beer with Knox earlier, but I don’t drink like half the kids in school do, and nothing close to what Aaron and Terry do.”

“I’m so glad you are close to Knox. He’s such a good kid. A kind, kind soul. And damn talented.”

“More than Tex Lansing?”

“Are you serious?” chuckled Mom. “There’s no comparison! Schnelling laughed off the John Bonham comparison, but it’s quite true. Knox has a gift.”

“So _join_ us!”

Mom patted her hands, which was always her way of saying she wasn’t going to argue the matter any longer, then stood and began cleaning up. Laurie helped, deciding not to press the issue any further.

“Some TV?” she suggested.

“I think I’d like to go for a drive, maybe grab a waffle cone at the Ocean Beach Pier, watch the sun set.”

“Want some company?”

“I’d love some.”

**~~*~~**


	5. Screwed Anyway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She doesn't want to go to the concert. At all. But she's about to be very glad she did. Read on!

**She had declared, more than once, that she’d not watch Meadowlark play their next gig.** Vehemently. Mom eventually resorted to begging.

“I’ve got a backstage pass for you ...”

“One that says, ‘DO NOT SERVE THIS MINOR’?”

“That’s the one. Just go and I won’t bug you anymore. You’ve got my word.”

“You won’t bug me anymore because you’re quitting, right?”

“That’s right.”

“Like I’d ever have any reason to ever watch them for any other reason!”

“They ... _we’ve_ ... ‘sold out.’ Apparently. Or—that’s what they’re telling everyone.”

“Are you _serious?_ Bullshit. Something doesn’t smell right. You’re playing Fifth Avenue, right?”

Mom nodded.

“That’s a _huge_ venue—like, three hundred people! I’m sorry, but I just can’t believe that happened organically!”

“It didn’t,” admitted Mom. “I know Dan Schnelling did extra advertising for it ...”

“Dickhead.”

“... and I know Terry was handing out tickets left and right a couple days ago. So was Aaron.”

“Just handing them out?”

“Pretty much, as I understand it.”

“For _free?_ ”

Mom shrugged, sighed, nodded.

“That’s not a sold-out concert!” laughed Laurie. “They just ran out of tickets to hand out!”

“Schnelling claims his radio spots have generated a lot of interest, much more than normal.”

Laurie’s grin was tinged with bitterness. “Radio. Who bothers listening to the radio anymore?”

“That’s what I think. It’s a dying medium—deservedly so. But Schnelling has a huge stake in it, and I’m not willing to blow him off so quickly.”

“Have they named your replacement yet?”

“No. Terry told me they have a few on a ‘short list,’ but that was all he was willing to say. He and I aren’t exactly talking anymore.”

“Which means they’ve got someone; he’s just too chickenshit to tell you they’ve got someone.”

“Probably.”

“Why doesn’t that piss you off?” yelled Laurie.

Mom held up her hands in a gesture of helplessness. She didn’t offer an explanation. “I’m glad I’m out. That’s all that matters to me at this point. The last practices have been super tense. They _really_ don’t want me there—and I don’t want to be there either. I tried talking to Terry, but he just walks away, even when I yell at him to stop. It’s all very painful.”

Her eyes glistened and spilled. Laurie went to her and hugged her. Mom held her back. She sniffled. It made Laurie cry too.

“I fucking _hate_ him!”

“I’m so sorry you do, sweetheart. I hate hearing it, but I must admit he’s behaving like a real jerk.”

“He’s an asshole!”

“An asshole,” said Mom.

She stared at the applications, six of them, all once neatly stacked at the back of her desk, now fanned out playing-card-style under her chin.

“Eenie-meenie-mynie-mo ...”

San Diego State University? University of San Diego? University of _California_ San Diego? San Diego City College? San Diego Cooperative College? Or how about lowly National University?

_Did_ she want to go to college? _Did_ she? She had graduated with a solid A average: 3.5 GPA. She had avoided the easy courses, the filler courses, and had challenged herself. At least enough to convince herself that she could become an academic if she really wanted, which at one point she was sure she did.

Now she wasn’t so sure.

College was _expensive_. Even with the settlement, Mom couldn’t afford it. She’d have to go on loans. And those loans were no better these days than taking cash from a loan shark.

“It wasn’t always that way,” Mom had told her. “There was a time when student loans were very inexpensive and reasonably easy to pay back. But the entire system has become corrupted to the point of absurdity, from college tuition fees to student loans. It’s become a trillion-dollar racket.”

“So what should I do if I want to, say, become a teacher, or a vet, or an engineer?”

“I don’t know, sweetie. And I’m so sorry. Just be prepared to be in debt for a long time, maybe forever.”

_Did_ she want to go? What _were_ her dreams, her aspirations?

She and Knox sat in a park near to where he lived and watched kids kick a soccer ball to and fro.

“They playing tonight?” he asked.

“Tomorrow. No, wait. The day after.”

“Shit. Isn’t this the seventeenth?”

“Sixteenth.” She sighed. “They take away dreams.”

He waited.

She turned to look at him. “I can’t afford college.”

“It’s why I didn’t go. Is that what’s got you so bummed, why you called?”

She shook her head. “Mom wants me to go. But ... I just can’t. I’ve been doing research. Even if I choose a third-rate university like National and get some lunky two-year associate’s degree with no hope of a career, I’ll still be nearly _fifty grand_ in debt— _assuming_ I work full-time while I’m going!”

“Yeah.”

“Weren’t you, like, a valedictorian or something?”

He chuckled. “One of ten. Big deal.”

“I mean, weren’t you offered scholarships?”

“A couple. Nothing that would’ve made going affordable. They were from out of state. Partial rides. Really not worth it.”

“But schlepping shakes and fries at In N Out is?”

He went silent for a time. “Can I tell you something?”

She gazed at him, puzzled. He sounded very serious. “Yeah. Sure.”

More silence. When she went to ask what’s wrong, he blurted, “I love you, Laurie.”

By itself, that was a major biggie—obviously. But coming from _Knox Mulloy?_ Knox—who typically kept to himself so much and so well that it was often impossible to know if he was suicidally depressed or ecstatic—? Knox, who was the walking, talking definition of soldiering on—? Knox, whose emotions didn’t show, typically, _at all_ until he got behind a drum set—?

“Uh ... _wow_. I mean ... Knox ...”

“You know me,” he interrupted. “It’s not that kind of love. It’s ... the kind I’d feel for a sister—if I had one. I feel it for Cherylynn too. I love my mom ... I really do. But I love you two just as much.

“Look,” he continued before she could respond, “I need to tell you something. I mean something else ... I think I alluded to it the other day when you came over. But I don’t think I impressed upon you how much it meant to me to get kicked out of the band and that you and I have formed another one. Honestly, Laurie, it’s been a fantasy of mine. I think we have a shot at something really special here. We should take it. No joke.”

She leaned into him and hugged him. He hugged her back.

“Musicians are a dime a dozen,” she said into his shoulder. “You might have to work In N Out forever! Is that what you really want?”

She pulled back to peer into his eyes. “How about a place of your own, or a car—even a crappy one? I love music, and I love playing. I really, really do. But it just isn’t a way to make a living!”

“No. It isn’t,” he admitted. “But this fuckin’ country is at such a state today that there is no way for people like me and you to make a living _period_. Even if we got paid fifteen bucks an hour, that’s still six or seven dollars short of what’s needed even for a living wage in this shitty town!”

“So you’re saying ... since we’re screwed anyway ...”

“Let’s jam. Yeah. That’s what I’m saying. I’ll end up managing In N Out, still unable to pay rent and living with Mom; and you’ll ...”

She chuckled sadly. “Are they hiring?”

They practiced again in his bedroom. His mom was gone for the day; she was a legal consultant for several large, local businesses which were hosting some sort of meet-and-greet for “new players” in town, ones who wanted “in on the action.” Or whatever.

“Whatever that means,” said Knox, shrugging.

He had a notebook with lyrics and poems—over a hundred. Laurie, sitting on the bed and leaning against the wall, read through some of his latest as he looked on.

“I really like this one,” she said. “I keep coming back to it:

_‘Before the sun cuts through the morning trees  
I wake and review the cramped ledger of my life.  
Before I knew her I trembled._

_‘Now I tremble more.’_ ”

She held up. “Is this ... about me?”

“And our fucked future.”

“It’s ... beautiful. And scary. And ... outrageous. Want to put some music to it?”

“The answer to that question, Laurie Meadowlark, coming from you, will always, always, _always_ be yes. Let’s do it.”

Fog had settled over the city by the time she got home. It was supposed to last another couple days, according to forecasters, and get thicker. The weather this early summer had been unusually cool. She didn’t mind at all. Cool was better than hot.

Mom came in with groceries, which Laurie helped unload from the car; then helped her cook. Baked ziti. They sat an hour later and dug in.

“You seem to have something on your mind, honey. Mind sharing?” Mom asked as they finished up.

Laurie took a drink of water, set the glass down. “Just a little depressed. Thinking about college, the future, all that scary stuff.”

“It’s much more complicated for you than it was for me, and it was already way too much back then! Anything in particular that’s got you down?”

“Nothing you don’t already know about. Knox thinks we should focus on music and playing and let the chips fall where they may. Not really a sound financial plan. But I’m tempted.”

“I would be too. It’s minimum wage and unlivable standards everywhere now. College degrees aren’t worth the generic toilet paper they’re printed on. The only thing that matters now is how rich you are going in, how connected.”

“Exactly!” exclaimed Laurie. “That’s exactly how it is!”

When Mom didn’t respond, she asked, “Where’s the lecture?”

“What lecture?”

“The standard parental one all kids hear growing up! That one!”

“I’m not sure which one you’re referring to.”

“The one about chasing security and money, how both are the most important things in life! That one! The one about finding a _ma-yan_ and settling down and making a home in suburbia; the one about being a good wife and mother and having babies and finding a _ma-yan_ who’s ‘financially secure,’ that one! Where’s _that_ lecture?”

“Is that what you want to hear?”

Frustrated, she shook her head, then clutched it with her hands. “No. It isn’t,” she murmured, staring down at her empty plate. “I guess. I mean ... I feel so lost, so ... adrift! I don’t know what to _do_ with my life!”

Mom put a hand on her shoulder. “I can’t tell you what you should do, honey. I won’t. You know me: I’m not the kind of mother who would tell you to do all that ... well, for lack of a better word, bullshit.”

She didn’t cuss often; when she did, it deserved immediate attention, because Laurie knew whatever she was saying was being said in grave seriousness. She stared at her and waited.

“I may not know much, but I know this: this world is careening towards total destruction because far too many people listen to advice like that, and dispense it to their kids, and so on forever. Don’t get me wrong. Security is good. Money is nice to have. Having a roof over your head and clothes on your back ... those are _good_ things. Necessary things. And you should do what you need to in order to provide for your being.

“But honey ... your being is _so_ much more than that. You have a soul, too. And it should never, _ever_ take second place to your physical needs. Do you understand?”

“How can I take care of my soul if I can’t take care of my body?” demanded Laurie, sniffling.

“The more important question is: What does it matter if you can take care of your body but in doing so have lost your soul?”

Laurie pounded the table with her elbows, making the dishes and silverware clink and rattle. _“Why—does—it—have—to—be—so—hard?”_

Mom brought her chair closer and pulled her into a hug, one that released the sob she was fighting desperately to hold back.

“I don’t know, honey. I don’t know.”

She came downstairs dressed in her stage outfit—a lace-trimmed, tight-fitting black top, and jeans. Except _this_ top ...

“Wow ...” said Laurie with a laugh. “Really? Aw, Mom ...”

“What are they going to do? What do you think?”

On her left shoulder, artfully embroidered in a colorful mix of threads, was _Knox_ ; on the right shoulder, _Laurie_. The print was easily large enough to be seen by the audience many rows back; the black of the shirt making them obvious, almost glowing. “I had Mister Jackson’s wife down the street sew them in. She’s got that Etsy store, you know, the one that makes all those fancy quilts.”

Laurie hugged her. “I’ll tell Knox. _Thank you_ ...”

She pulled back. “They are gonna be _so pissed!_ ”

Mom shrugged. “Oh, well!”

“Are you heading out now?”

“To their new bachelor ‘cave,’ yeah. Tex’s father bought them a used van. They insist I go with them—all this _rah, rah, we’re a team thing, look at us, the unified rock n’ roll band._ ”

“You mean,” Laurie grinned, “they are actually listening to the idiots on their Facebook page?”

“And their Patreon page, yes,” said Mom, shaking her head. “They’re pissed about the ones that keep flaming them about firing us. Not a small number of those. Terry and Aaron have insinuated that they got rid of us because we’re troublemakers.”

“I saw that. Jackasses.”

“So this is the least I can do. I’m going to go out protesting. You bet your ass I’m going to!”

They hugged again. “See you there?”

“Doors open at nine, like usual?”

Mom reached and cupped her face. “I love you.”

“Love you to. Now I can’t wait to go!”

“I thought you’d say that. See you there.”

She finally found parking and walked the four blocks to the bar. She was twenty minutes late. Normally that would concern and irritate her, but not this time, because she spied Terry angrily rounding a corner and disappearing from sight. She followed him and smirked: they too were late. He was still hauling equipment out of their new-old van into the back entrance to the stage. Tex was with him; she spied Aaron too, who saw her. He threw her a look of unbridled hate and went inside.

That made her smirk even more.

She rounded the corner to the front and joined the queue waiting there. It was, admittedly, larger than normal, which wiped a little of the smile from her face.

Meadowlark attracted all types, it seemed, from metal-heads to gaggles of giggling suburban mothers wearing hot pink tops and trying really hard to play teenager again. There were bikers in the mix, and frat boys; there were girls with dyed black or purple hair and heavy makeup and leather to ...

“Hi,” he said as she passed him, falling in line behind him.

“Hi,” she quietly returned. She had learned long ago to avoid eye contact with boys and men if she didn’t want to be hit on, so she didn’t look at him. Now, behind him, she allowed herself to look.

He was a trim middle-aged man, neatly combed auburn hair, clean-shaven, expensive business-casual jacket, somewhat pointy chin, what had to be a very expensive gold and silver watch and custom-cobbled shoes.

He turned to face her. “Laurie Meadowlark, right?”

She blinked. “Right.”

He held out his hand. “Good to meet you, Laurie. I’m Reuben Kincaid.”

She shook it. “Uh ... wow. It’s really great to meet you.”

Mr. Kincaid was a publicist and band manager, one of the best and highest paid in the country, if the rumors about him were even half true. Everyone in music had heard of him. He had recently retired, Mom had told her not too long ago, from managing Taylor Swift— _Taylor_ _friggin’ Swift!_ He was a bona fide biggie in the industry, which made him knowing her name both astonishing and somewhat terrifying.

“I’m sorry to hear about the band changes,” he said. “It happens all the time. I’m just sorry it happened to you.”

“Me? You’ve heard about ... _me?_ ”

He glanced up the line, then back. “Meadowlark—I mean, the new Meadowlark—contacted me through Dan Schnelling a week ago. They asked that I show up tonight. I was in San Francisco, so I thought, ‘What the hell ...’ ”

“Well,” she said, fumbling for something to say, “I hope you enjoy the sh—”

“I’m doing this as a favor to Schnelling, frankly,” he said. “He’s convinced with you and your mother and Knox Mulloy gone that Meadowlark is ready for the big time. Truth is, I think Meadowlark is farther from any sort of ‘big time’ than ever. But hey—what do I know? I’ve been wrong before.”

He turned to face her fully. “You and Mulloy were the real backbone of that group.”

She flushed. Such a compliment coming from such a well-known industry bigwig!

“Thank you.”

“I mean it. A group needs fire. It needs passion. It needs authenticity, even if half your set are covers. That was you; and that was very much Knox Mulloy. Did he come with you tonight by chance? I’d really like to meet him.”

“No,” she replied. “He had to work.”

“Let me guess. Fast food.”

“Shake and fries,” she sang.

His smile was genuine. “Ann Wilson.”

“Sorry?”

“Your singing voice. Ann Wilson. You sound pretty close to her.”

She knew he had managed Heart in the past. She was flummoxed to the point of speechlessness.

“And Mulloy,” he chuckled. “I’ll be a son of a bitch if that isn’t the next John Bonham. Seriously. It’s beyond stupid that they chucked that kid. Just ... stupid.”

“I will send him your regards,” she managed to get out.

He laughed. “You will ‘send him’ my ‘regards’? Holy shit! When was the last time I heard anyone in this lousy industry say something with decency and a little class?” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you for that!” He laughed again.

She was standing at the cliff-edge of catatonic awe and about to fall off. In an effort not to, she asked, “You’re ... standing in line? You? I’d think just walking up to the backstage door would get you in right away!”

The line had started moving; bouncers were collecting tickets and stamping hands.

He motioned for her to join him. She did.

“I like getting a feel for a crowd before a show,” he told her as she came up alongside him. “The best way to do that isn’t after you’re let into a venue; it’s before, out here in line. It’s a habit my mentor taught me. It’s quite valuable.”

“So what does this line tell you?”

He shrugged. “They’re interested, mildly so. Meadowlark has kinda-sorta minor celebrity status in this town. The band has a following, I suppose enough to make the possibility of ‘the big time’ tantalizing—at least to newbies. I’m sure they don’t think I’ll show. I didn’t even bother buying a ticket.”

She chuckled. “Neither did I.”

They laughed.

They got to the bouncers. “Ticket?” demanded the bigger one (they were both huge and intimidating).

“Nah. None,” said Mr. Kincaid. “Let the band know that Reuben Kincaid is here.”

The other bouncer’s eyes went wide. He hurried inside. The other one focused on Laurie. “You’re not allowed in, Miss Meadowlark. Sorry. Band’s strict orders.”

She was about to blurt, “What the fuck—?” when Mr. Kincaid said, “If they want me to watch them, they’ll change their tune on that tootsweet. I suggest you let them know.”

“I don’t know who you are, Mister ...” the bouncer began, his goateed visage darkening. He went to continue, but the other came rushing back. “Mister Kincaid. Come on in.”

“Not without her,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

The bouncer held up, then motioned them inside.

“Please, Laurie, won’t you join me?” he asked as they made their way to a seat along the bar’s back side. The bouncer who’d let them in rushed up. “You need to have this on at all times.”

He gave her a huge white shirt clip, outlined in neon red, that said:

**MINOR.  
DO NOT SERVE ALCOHOL.**

“Yeah, whatever,” she murmured, and snatched it from his hand. Mr. Kincaid led her to a table with two empty seats, one of many back here. The band had definitely _not_ sold out, she thought as she sat down.

“Something to drink?” Mr. Kincaid asked as he got comfortable and she put on the clip.

She remembered that Fifth Avenue served Zevia, so when the waitress approached, that’s what she asked for. “Zevia cola, please.”

“What the heck is ‘Zevia’?” he demanded.

“Soft drinks with Stevia instead of sugar. Really good.”

“Make that two,” Mr. Kincaid told the waitress, who had probably recognized him, because she had to be told twice. Her gawk disappeared; she blinked, smiled, and hurried away.

“That must get really old after a while.”

He chuckled. “You have no idea.”

The venue had tables and seats along the back and the sides. These were up stairs; the main floor, which usually had tables and chairs as well, was barren concrete. The stage was fairly plain: no curtains, standard rock-show lighting, larger than most, which in the past she had appreciated. It tended to be quite cold up there, as air conditioning always seemed to be blasting down. The last time she played here, she actually got a little hypothermic; as a result she kept missing notes from her hands shaking.

The waitress returned, cans of Zevia and glasses with ice. She gave Mr. Kincaid a quick awestruck smile and hurried away once again.

“I’d’a thought you a Scotch man,” Laurie commented, trying to make friendly conversation. She was honestly lost for words at this point, uncomfortably so.

He poured some soft drink into his glass. “I was. A fifth every night. Then I lost my wife, my kids, my home, got fired—twice, in the same day—lost thirty-six million in the settlement, got in a nearly fatal car crash, had my name plastered all over the Internet ...”

He lifted his glass in a toast. She did as well, trying not to gape at his honesty. “Here’s to six and a half years sober.”

He clinked his glass to hers and drank.

“Not bad ... not bad at all!” he said, examining the clear liquid.

“Congratulations,” she offered, feeling deeply awkward. Was that what you did—congratulate those who stayed sober?

“This business ...” he said, shaking his head “... drugs and drinking are so foundationally wrapped up in its mystique that I doubt they’ll ever get untangled and discarded. If you’re a rock star, it just goes with the territory. It’s fairly mind boggling to me just how many get into this racket with that front and center in their mind, as though it’s some sort of job requirement.”

She couldn’t help but think of Terry and Aaron, who, it seemed, were high and/or drunk all the damn time.

“Yeah,” she replied. “I think that’s at least part of what got me and Mom thrown out.”

“It’s probably a waste of breath to tell you not to take it personally—?”

She nodded balefully, staring at the ice in her glass.

“Good. Because that advice is bullshit. You _should_ take it personally. As should Knox Mulloy; as should your mother.”

At that moment the lights fell and the crowd—definitely _not_ a sold out one—came to life, cheering and clapping. Under purple lighting the emcee came out, headset on, and yelled, “Good evening! We’ve got two-fers going until 10; taps half off; and just to remind everyone, next Saturday Priority Mail will be playing one night only! For now, give it up for Meadowlark!”

An electric guitar sounded a hard E chord, then went into the intro to one of their signature songs, “Simply Driven,” as the band came out onto the stage. Terry approached the stage’s front like some conquering hero as girls at his feet squealed; he gave them a grinning acknowledgement and began singing. Mom was at keyboards, typically what Laurie played; Aaron was on bass, and, of course, Tex Lansing was bashing the skins.

Laurie wasn’t focusing on them, but a fifth player she’d never met, another guitarist to the right of Terry: long, straight black hair, eyeliner, multiple piercings and tats, heroin-addict thin, wearing some sort of silly get-up that showed most of his stick arms and flat stomach over black leather pants.

They had greatly increased the tempo to the song, and totally changed the guitar accompaniment. Mom, the names on her shoulders plain even back here, sang backup. Usually she smiled and looked out at the audience; tonight she stared down at the keyboards, her face very serious. Aaron, to her immediate left, jumped up and down.

The song was in nightmarish ruins. Just like that.

“God- _damnit_ ,” she murmured.

“I take it they have changed it in a way that you don’t like,” Mr. Kincaid remarked, having to speak loudly.

It was arguably her favorite song. She was its coauthor, along with Mom and Knox. It was difficult not to fly in a rage. Keeping it under wraps only made tears burn up in her eyes. She gritted her teeth and looked at him.

Thankfully, it was all the answer he needed. He gave her forearm a couple of sympathetic pats.

There were more songs she’d written with Knox and Mom; and sure enough, they had butchered those as well. Terry announced, “We’ve got somethin’ brand spankin’ new for you all tonight.”

As far as she could tell, its title was “Massively Doinked,” given the number of times he screamed it. The lyrics came down to, essentially: _I’m gonna do what I want; I know what I want; Ain’t no way you’re gonna stop me; Burn it all down; Get off my ass._

It and the other “brand spankin’ new” ones were all very similar tone: very metal-based and angry, Terry metal-screaming into the mike, few chord changes; Tex Lansing breaking drumsticks with great gusto and much less than half the talent of Knox.

Mom played along, wooden and stiff, a clear frown on her face, which, given the tone and the lyrics, actually made it appear as though she was just getting into the songs’ character. But Laurie knew she wasn’t. Terry went to her once between tunes and yelled something; she glanced up at him, eyes wide with anger, and went back to staring at the keyboard.

“I think she’s really not having much fun up there tonight,” observed Mr. Kincaid.

Laurie had just managed to get a handle on her rage. “So what do you think?”

“Of this new Meadowlark?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t. It’s a junior high school garage band. They’ve butchered Meadowlark’s best compositions.”

“I’m sorry you wasted your time coming here,” she remarked, feeling genuinely bad for him while astonished that he knew _anything_ about their music.

“Nonsense,” he replied after setting his glass down. “I got to meet you. Did you drive here?”

She nodded.

“I’ll walk you to your car. Ready to go, or do you want to hang around to talk to your mom?”

“I’ll see her when she gets home. Let’s go.”

She was impressed that he knew that their set was almost over; but then, his experience and expertise was probably so finely tuned that it was second nature for him to know such things. She stood with him as the band launched into another new tune. She gave Mom a last glance at the door.

_It’s almost over, Mom. Then you and I can have some hot chocolate and celebrate your freedom. See you soon._

Mr. Kincaid held out his hand when she got to her car. She took it.

“It was a real pleasure meeting you, Laurie. Please give your mom and Knox my best.”

“I will,” she returned. “They won’t believe I met you, let alone got to sit with you!”

He went to respond, but stopped. “I’m really not all that. I got lucky. Very lucky. I got into the biz when the getting was good. I had some really smart people around me, only two of which I can claim I even wanted there.

“Most of all, though,” he said, sighing reflectively, “I came from great wealth. I was born on third. For a long time I deluded myself that I’d hit a triple. But I hadn’t. That wealth provided all sorts of connections for me to plumb—even before I was your age! I heard just last week my first apartment—the one I bought at the tender age of twenty-one—just sold for eighteen and a half million dollars. I only paid a million for it.”

“Sure,” he went on, “sure. Those bozos might get lucky and hit it big. They might. Truthfully, they have more talent than some who have made it, and are popular still. So I can’t discount the possibility. But the truth is, Laurie, it’s remote. Same goes for you, and for Knox. You’re quite talented. And he’s phenomenal. But that doesn’t mean squat in the end. Your futures are like great, deep ruts already dug out for you, ones that’ll take tons of luck—not hard work, _luck_ —to get out of. This is not a democracy. It’s a full-on oligarchy. And those bastards hold all the power. Believe me. I’m one of them.”

She was surprised and silenced by his speech. Then it hit her.

“Is that ... I mean ... is that how you know about me? About Knox?”

He smiled. “I was born on third, Laurie. I haven’t had to work a single day of my life. I chose to because ... well ... I was very high at the time; but also, I had some spark of democratic idealism in me. Imagine that! A bratty silver-spooned punk oligarch wanting to go fight for democracy! So my dad pulled some strings and I got into music. It was sheer blind luck that I had an aptitude for it and took it someplace.”

He cupped her face. “ _You_ have talent. Never forget that. The world is going to ignore you, because the world only cares about cash and connections. You stand no chance of ‘making it,’ however you define that. But damn ... I really hope you keep playing. Knox too. I’d say the same about your mother, but after what I saw tonight, I doubt she’ll play again. That woman was _pissed off_.”

She nodded. He hadn’t answered her question. She wasn’t going to press him.

He reached into his suit coat, pulled out what looked like a checkbook, and handed her his card. “Let’s keep in touch.”

“I’d really like that. Thank you, Mister Kincaid.”

He gave her a sad smile, turned and walked away.

The doorbell rang at half past one—the exact time she expected Mom to walk in. Blinking with confusion, she got up and ran to it.

Two cops were waiting. “Laurie Meadowlark?”

“Yes...?”

“I’m sorry,” the taller, darker one said, “but your mother and brother have been involved in a serious car crash. They’re in the hospital.”

**~~*~~**

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please pop by my blog, ThePiertoForever.com, for more fan fiction, original fiction, digital art, poetry, illustrations, and much more!


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